Equilibrium
by Sadazen
Summary: Younger brothers worry. Steel melts in fire. Alphonse stays up rather late, studying and pondering. [Faint RoyEd, Al POV]


**A/N: **A few throwaway comments in an IM conversation, and look what you have. XD Whee. It's certainly been a while since I've written anything in excess of a page. I don't know whether to be ecstatic or disturbed. O.o This may be construed as somewhat AU, but I didn't intend it to be.

Credit is due certain parties for various reasons. They know who they are, and that I am in one way or another indebted. –nodnod-

**Disclaimer: **Neither of the Elric brothers belongs to me. Nor does Roy Mustang. Nor does that definition down there somewhere. XD That's from the FFN Dictionary and Thesaurus. No joke.

* * *

**Equilibrium**

I never go to bed before my brother arrives home, no matter the time of his arrival. I have to open the door for him before I make sure he has dinner.

Brother does have his own set of keys, of course. However, I've noticed of late that—being as important as he is, and having the busy schedule that he's told me he has—the set is habitually forgotten at home, and at the office, and in other places in which it can't serve its door-opening purpose. Being faced with a locked door late at night does _not _make him a happy camper.

After his habit of banging on said door with his fist—the automail fist, no less—and shouting for me to "come and open the friggin' door" came to my attention, I made it my duty to meet him halfway. In the process, I've also spared the few neighbors who haven't yet moved away many a rude awakening.

Go me.

There's also the matter of his eating habits. Returning from work as late as he does, his dinner usually consists of a cup of, well, cup noodles—hastily mixed, barely cooked, the prospect makes me shudder—and flat soda. Even if I've told him a million times that putting all those preservatives and god-knows-what-else into his system will sooner or later make his hair turn orange and fall out, he never listens. Nor does he ever eat anything else if I haven't prepared more suitable food.

Granted, what I do prepare for him is usually cold by the time he staggers in to eat it. Oh well. As distressing as brother's "quirks" get sometimes, they're not my biggest concern. They can be countered with a little perseverance and some leftover stew in the pot.

Some things aren't so easily remedied.

Maybe I shouldn't be as concerned as I am. While I'm known to be rather naïve when it comes to matters of the heart—or, as the case may be, matters of the repressed sexuality—I haven't missed the meaning behind all the stolen glances, the constant bickering, the rustling of paper behind locked doors, even the work hours that grow later and later for reasons unknown.

What I mean to say is that I do, indeed, know about my brother's slowly blossoming "romance" withColonel Roy Mustang. Even if it appears that no one else does. And it unnerves me. My common sense tells me that's just because I myself have never _been _to anyone what my brother and the good colonel appear to _be _to each other.

But it still unnerves me.

There, I said it.

lll

"_Brother," _I often imagine myself telling him, on a night much like this one, _"I want it to be clear to you that, if nothing else, I have no idea how long this has been going on, or why it's become what it has, or any of the basic facts. I know you think I don't notice, but I still do. And I'm telling you this because I'm worried that you might get hurt, or worse. Forget the fact that what you're doing isn't just… frowned upon; it's also a huge overstepping of your boundaries as commander and subordinate. Forget that. You know the colonel can be rather ambitious. Even arrogant. A pompous ass. And don't look at me like that. You're the one who's always saying he is._

"_Anyway, I probably don't understand the situation as well as you do. But even I know that while loveless infatuation possibly but NOT necessarily leading to," _in a whisper, _"office sex and all sorts of terrible things like that is supposed to be extremely gratifying, there are only so many sparks that you can make fly before you get burned. Pun extremely intended._

"_At the heart of it all, I just want you to know you're okay. And that you're not beating each other up by whatever means. Because I've been thinking all the time about what makes the two of you tick together, and that it's probably not because you love each other at all, and that steel melts in furnaces, and, and…"_

I always stop soliloquizing in my head at this point.

He'd probably laugh and tell me that he'll be fine, that he always has been. That one day I'll understand, that until then I'll have to trust him. Or he'll be so tired he won't process a word I say, just laugh at my being so worked up over whatever it is I'm so worked up about. I know my brother. I know him well enough to give him fully my respect, trust and affection. Even if sometimes he does things that I can't for the life of me figure out.

I guess that's why I haven't confronted him about it yet.

More likely he'd be too tired to answer, anyway. He's always tired these days.

llll

I read a lot while I'm waiting, mostly study matter that I know I should go over if I'm ever going to hold a candle to brother's skill. I can't concentrate tonight, though. It's later than usual; the clock on the wall will chime twelve hours soon.

_He must be particularly busy tonight._

I sigh and turn myself back to my reading, determined to stop mulling over my concerns—not worries, but concerns—for the moment. If I don't think about it too much, I won't be so apprehensive about mentioning it when he finally _does _come home.

_**Equilibrium (n., plural- equilibriums, equilibria) is the equality of weight or force; also, an equipoise or a state of rest produced by the mutual interaction of two or more forces.**_

It's a little ironic at present, I'll admit. Equilibrium. Equality. Balance.

If there are any gods up there, and if they happen to be particularly attentive, would they know that those two have everything but, while I can only speculate? Or do the two of them find some sort of state of rest in the trouble they cause each other that I'm missing?

And will I _really _understand when I get older?

Drat. Now I'm thinking about it again. Maybe I ought to just put the book down and accept that I'm doomed to mulling unnecessarily over my elder brother's illicit relationships until I hear that welcome sound of automail-on-creaky-door. I dog-ear the page, setting it on the coffee table.

I wonder.

lllll

What I mistake for the clock chiming twelve is actually the telephone ringing. Odd. People rarely call here, and never at this hour… Regardless, I get up from my seat to answer.

"Good evening?"

"Al, you're still up."

Speak of the Devil. Brother's voice is cheery, a little apologetic, as though he means to excuse himself for being away so long without actually saying so. In the background, I think I can hear a snap, and the crackling of an open fire.

"Brother." My answer comes out just as pleasantly, thank goodness. I was worried the anxiety would show. "You didn't lose your way home, did you? Dinner must've gone cold a long time ago."

"Sorry, buddy." He laughs. "I got a little held up."

"Did you?"

"Uh-huh. You know. With work, and stuff."

He pauses; I don't know what to say. The silence drifts between the lines for longer than either of us feels comfortable with.

"I just wanted to call you," he says at last, "to tell you I won't be coming home tonight. Okay? So you don't have to open the door for me anymore." Another laugh, this time laced with awkwardness. "And it's way past your bedtime, mister."

"Oh." I stand silently for a moment, processing this new information, trying to figure out what it means. I only sigh. "All right, then."

"You okay?" he asks. The temptation to go over to where I think he is and bop him lightly on the head crosses my mind. He shouldn't be worried about me when he has to look after himself much more. "Something wrong?"

"_I'm _fine, brother," I answer. "I just want to make sure you are."

"Oh, I see." I can imagine him smiling, tugging on his braid in brief thought, finally shrugging his shoulders. "I'm fine too, Al. More than fine."

"But—" I begin, but he cuts me off wryly, his smile now sounding more like a smirk.

"Not lying; cross my heart and hope to die. I never lie to you, stupid head. You know that."

"I guess."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, 'kay? Make sure to get some sleep."

"You too."

"G'night."

"Good night."

The dial tone beeps as he disconnects the line. Over my shoulder, the clock strikes twelve. Come to think of it, I'm kind of drowsy myself. I really should be sleeping.

Tomorrow, then.

Or whenever.

**Fin**


End file.
